


Betcha Didn't See That Coming

by LoonyLoopyLisa, OriginalCeenote, ThatsCrazyRandom, the_problem_with_stardust



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Accidental Telepathy, Alternate Universe, M/M, Magic, Telepathy, Winterhawk Round Robin, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 03:42:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17890835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLoopyLisa/pseuds/LoonyLoopyLisa, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatsCrazyRandom/pseuds/ThatsCrazyRandom, https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_problem_with_stardust/pseuds/the_problem_with_stardust
Summary: Clint had reviewed some cold-cases the last time he was on desk duty and there were a couple that seemed impossible in every sense. But magic…“Focus.” Natasha gripped his shoulders tight. “Tell me what happened. And don’t leave anything out.”Or, the one where Clint gains the power to read minds. And he’s not alone…





	Betcha Didn't See That Coming

**Author's Note:**

> This is Group 3s story for the WinterHawk Round Robin set up by ClaraxBarton.  
> Art was done by the incredible pietray (@quicksillver on Tumblr)  
> Beta'd by @glasshearts-bloodyknuckles

All Clint wanted was a double-shot mocha with extra whip, and a quiet space to drink it before he dove into the pile of crap in his inbox. Without any drama. Was that too much to ask?

 

His piece of crap iPhone betrayed him. He’d set it in the middle of the night after watching three too many episodes of  _ Friends from College _ , and his bleary, burning eyeballs didn’t catch that he’d set the alarm for seven PM instead of seven fucking AM. Lucky woke him instead, barking his head off at the neighbor’s shih-tzu through Clint’s apartment door. Lucky caught his scent every time. Every damn time. Clint yelped awake and jerked beneath the covers, feeling himself bounce back against the mattress.

 

“Doggone it… dog. C’mon. That wasn’t very n-”

_ Holy shit! _

“Shitshitshit! What time is it?!” The light in the room looked all wrong. Mid-winter in Brooklyn didn’t mean a pale blue sky at that hour; if Clint had woke up on time, it would still be pitch black out and cold as balls. Clint rolled over and grabbed his phone. 7:32.

 

“Shit,” Clint growled as he threw off the covers. Lucky snuffled at his legs, poking his cold, damp nose into the pit of Clint’s knee as he stumbled toward the kitchen. Clint got his dog settled first, knowing Lucky would trip him up the whole time he tried to get himself ready if he didn’t. The Purina bag was almost empty. Clint dumped the rest of the kibble into Lucky’s bowl, rummaged around in the fridge, and crumbled up a cold, leftover hamburger patty that he’d contemplated eating for breakfast onto it as topping. Good enough for the moment. Lucky attacked the dish while Clint refilled his water bowl and peeked in his pantry.

 

“Aw, coffee, no,” he muttered as he found the nearly empty can of Folger’s grounds. Okay. A trip to Target was in order sooner rather than later.

 

Clint dashed himself under the shower before the water had the chance to heat up, wincing and doing a little mincing shuffle under the tepid spray, listening to the shower gel bottle burp as he squirted out the last of it into his palm. His attempts at hygiene were slapdash, and by the time the water finally warmed to the temperature that he liked, it was time to get out.

 

“Brrrrrrr…” Clint danced from one foot to the other, slapping his skin dry with the towel and using it to ruffle the dampness from his hair. Ten minutes later, he was dressed in a rumpled buttondown that hadn’t seen an iron in weeks, khakis with a tiny stain on the knee, sneakers that were a bit too casual for his office dress code, and a blazer that his ex gave him that almost made him look like a grownup. 

 

Coffee would salvage this morning if he hurried. Sure. Clint grabbed his keys, gave Lucky one last scratch behind his ears, telling him, “Lie down. Be a good boy. Daddy will be home soon.” Lucky whined, but he reluctantly padded over to his faded plaid flannel dog bed and laid down on it with a little canine huff. 

 

It all went downhill from there. Sometimes, Clint wondered what his dog was thinking, and if he truly realized what a human disaster his daddy was. And if he judged him for it.

 

The universe would answer that question for him sooner than he thought.

 

*

  
  


The garbage truck cut Clint off when he tried to turn into the parking garage, and he cursed a blue streak and leaned on his horn.

 

“C’mon, buddy, give a guy a break here!” Clint fortified himself with a too-hot sip of his coffee, scorching his tongue and hissing at his own lack of planning. The truck caught the large green container inside the slot of the lift and emptied it neatly into the hatch, but to Clint, every second was time off the clock that he couldn’t afford, and that he could be parking his piece of shit Dodge. Clint drummed his fingers against his steering wheel and waited, praying for his moment. When it came, he crammed the gearshift into drive, “Finally!” exploding from his chest.

 

The old forest green Lincoln Continental with a white rag top came out of nowhere as he pulled into the garage, nailing his passenger side and knocking his coffee out of the cup holder, splashing the hot liquid all over his slacks.

 

“COFFEE, NO! Aw, GODDAMN IT!” The Lincoln backed up and turned into the nearest empty space. Clint’s eyes roved around the garage for one for himself, finding one six rows down. The car’s driver glared at him with murky, gray gimlet eyes from behind the steering wheel. Clint fumed as he got out, holding his depleted coffee and gesturing to his car and his pants.

 

“Lady, I know the usual drill is to ask for insurance, but I hope you have a good dry cleaner. This ain’t how I wanted to start my day.”

 

“You need a driving instructor, not a dry cleaner,” she snapped as she got out of her car, all five-feet-nothing of her. She weighed maybe a buck-ten and change looking dressed for a day of dancing in a field with druids and hobbits, garbed in a raggedy sweater and gauzy floral dress. Her hair hung in long, gray ropes and her fingers were weighed down with silver rings.

 

“Oh, you’re cute, lady. Listen, just give me your information, and we’ll wait for the cops to get here and settle this.”

 

“You were driving too fast. I’m not the one who needs to settle anything, you hooligan! You darted out in front of me and ruined my front end!”

 

“Lady, gravity and genetics ruined your front end,” Clint countered, earning himself an angry gawp. “We’re waiting for the cops. You’re gonna hear from my adjuster.”

 

“You think you’re so smart. Watch that tongue of yours. It might get you in trouble.”

 

“I’ve heard scarier people than you tell me that, if I’m being honest. Seriously, lady. You just pulled outta nowhere and nailed my passenger side.”

 

“You should have seen me coming!”

 

“Woulda, coulda, shoulda. It ain’t like I can read minds to know you were planning to take that right turn too fast.”

 

Her expression shifted in an instant, and Clint liked her cunning, satisfied little smile even less.

 

“Well, of course you can’t.” She paused. “Yet.”

 

Clint’s brows drew together, and he felt a weird little chill run down his spine, competing with his cold, damp pants leg for the biggest nuisance of his morning.

 

Couldn’t get any worse, right?

 

*

Bucky had a ‘gift.’ At least, Steve told him it was a gift. A lot of the time it sure didn’t feel like one. But Steve was always blabbering about the universe repaying him for his missing arm. Ha. Nice try Steve, the universe repaid him by having Tony Stark give him the first fully functional StarkTech prototype arm. 

 

Ever since he’d gotten out of the hospital after coming back from Afghanistan down an arm and up a bucketful of PTSD, he could hear voices. When no one was talking. He could hear what they were thinking. 

 

He’d gotten caught up in an explosion during a raid of a terrorist group called the Ten Rings. Luckily his men had gotten out alive, mostly unharmed. But Steve thought that something about the explosion wasn’t right (which he was probably right about, those guys were running some shady stuff) so they assumed that that’s where he got his ‘gift’. 

 

Unless all the x-rays he’d needed for his surgeries had turned him radioactive. 

 

So anyway, because of his ‘gift,’ Bucky spent most of his time in his room, which was soundproofed to all hell, and they’d paid a witch off Craigslist to place protection spells on (Bucky wasn’t even sure if it worked, or if it was maybe a psychological thing? Either way, his room was quiet unless others were in with him), just to get some peace and quiet. Steve had grown-up with him, and they were like brothers, but his thoughts were not something Bucky needed to hear in his head all day long.  

 

Humans had some fucked up things in their head. That was probably the worst thing he’d learnt since he’d got his ‘gift.’ Also, how many people pitied him for his arm and his PTSD. It kinda sucked. Probably was one of the few reasons he liked Tony. 

 

He’d just about worked out a system to keep from going insane. Hearing people’s thoughts was exhausting and often chaotic, especially when you lived somewhere like New York. Bucky hated going to Manhattan. The crowds were unbearable. Luckily he had a billionaire arm doctor/friend who’d send him cars whenever his arm needed to go for maintenance. Keeping his mind busy, whether through puzzles or just playing loud music, kept the mind noise to a minimum. 

 

That was another thing Bucky had learnt since getting his ‘gift,’ ‘mind noise’ was a better received term than ‘voices in my head.’ The looks his therapist Sam had given him when he’d casually mentioned it were as hilarious as they were worrying. 

 

He’d looked online many times and never found anyone who had, or at least openly had, the same ‘gift’ as him. He’d found people who claimed to read minds, but reading their experiences let him know pretty quickly that most were frauds. He still checked every now and again just to see if anyone like him had popped up anywhere, which was what he was doing now.

 

He wasn’t even sure what he would do if he did find someone who really seemed to have the same ‘gift’ as him. Would he meet them? Would their ‘gifts’ work on each other or would their gifts protect their minds? Could they, theoretically, have a conversation entirely in their heads? He couldn’t say he wasn’t curious. 

 

There was no new ‘mind readers’ online today though, so he closed his laptop and went to see if Steve was up. The thing about staying in his room so much was that Bucky got restless fairly quickly. It meant he had to get up at stupid o’clock to go on a run with Steve every day to get some energy out. 

 

He’d gotten into the routine, but Steve had been going on dates recently and staying out real late, which Bucky was glad about because he did not need to hear Steve’s fantasies about the guy he was seeing. (He pretended not to know, even though Steve should know by now that he literally can’t keep a secret from Bucky anymore) But it meant he had been sleeping in later than usual. 

 

Bucky stepped out of his room, hearing _“5 more minutes of phone time then I’ll go get Buck”_ in that familiar echo of Steve’s voice that meant he hadn’t actually heard it with his ears. He smirked to himself and went and banged on Steve’s door. 

 

“Up and at ‘em, Stevie!” he yelled. 

 

“ _ Jesus fucking- Dammit,”  _ He heard in his head, followed by a reluctant _ , “ _ Coming Bucky,” in his ears. 

 

When Steve came out, he gave him the finger, coupled with some exhausted thoughts. Bucky got his earphones out and they both headed off on their run. 

 

*

 

“About time you showed up,” Fury said, turning from the wall of screens. He observed Clint for a moment, then seemed to write him off in favor of studying the rest of the room. Except Clint could  _ feel  _ his resignation, coupled with an echoey “ _ Damn it Barton, what’ve you done now?” _

 

Clint blinked. This was so much worse than he’d thought. He elbowed his way through the group of Monday morning zombies – not that he was usually any better – searching for a familiar face. The noise was overwhelming, much like the time he shorted out one of his aids and everyone sounded like the parents on Charlie Brown.

 

When he spotted a flash of red hair, Clint reacted on instinct. Or maybe his brain left his body. That was the only other explanation he had for grabbing a world-renowned field agent by the arm and dragging her away from the incessant chatter.

 

“Why are we in the men’s room?” Natasha asked, eyebrow raised.  _ “He better have a hell of a good reason. It reeks in here.” _

 

Frowning, Clint tilted his head. “You think in English?”

 

“Sometimes,” Natasha hedged, frown deepening.  “ _ Drinking on a Monday? No. Doesn’t appear intoxicated. Drugged? No. Pupils are normal. Though he seems more agitated than usual…. _ _ ” _

 

“Please. Stop analyzing me, Nat.” Clint tugged at his ears, as if that would help muffle the buzz of thoughts emanating from outside the bathroom. “I’m not drunk. Or drugged. Or crazy.”

 

Natasha tilted her head, considering. “Well. The last one is debatable.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Clint couldn’t help but feel comforted by the fondness in her thoughts. Bringing Natasha in as an asset to their division, rather than letting the government lock her away, was one of Clint’s better decisions. He leaned into her side, focusing on the warm and peaceful feeling.

 

Then his eyes snapped open. “What are you doing?” Because she was controlling her thoughts, somehow hiding bits beneath an outward projection of calm.

 

“In my former life,” which either meant as a ballerina or a white-collar thief, but judging by the darkness in her tone, Clint would guess the latter “I heard rumors of people with… enhancements.”

 

“Holy shit.” Clint picked up on the one stray thought that made it past her mental barriers. “Magic? Magic is real?”

 

Natasha huffed. “Is that so hard to believe?”

 

Which was fair. Clint had reviewed some cold-cases: the last time he was on desk duty there were a couple that seemed impossible in every sense. But  _ magic _ ….

 

“Focus.” Natasha gripped his shoulders tight. “Tell me what happened. And don’t leave anything out.”

 

Clint wracked his brain, piecing together his encounter outside the parking garage.

 

“She definitely looked like a witch,” he muttered, remembering the rings practically encasing her fingers. No wonder she couldn’t drive. It had to be nearly impossible to drive when she couldn’t bend her knuckles.

 

A hard flick to his forehead made him flinch. “Remember what Coulson says about stereotypes,” Natasha said, accompanied by a harsh “ _ Focus! _ ”. Clint barely refrained from sticking his tongue out at her.

 

“Hang on!” How could he be so dumb? He was a federal agent for fuck’s sake. “I have her contact information. From the police report.”

 

Without another word, Natasha held out her hand. He dropped his phone into her palm.

 

“I’ll be back to you within the hour.” She looked over the bathroom with distaste. “Feel free to hide in my cubicle. Or Maria’s office should be free until this afternoon.”

 

Clint let out a deep breath. “Thanks, Nat. You’re the best.”

 

She waved him off, pocketing his phone on her way out the door.

 

“Wait. You don’t know the password.”

 

_ “Come on, Clinton. I know all of your passwords.” _

 

***

 

Clint waited until the coast was clear before sneaking to Maria’s office.  He carefully locked the door behind him and laid down on the floor behind the desk, hoping to be invisible to anyone peeking through the window.  The stray thought was still sneaking through as people walked by but it was a lot quieter.

 

_ I hope nobody can tell I forgot to put on deodorant this morning. _

 

_ What would happen if I put my hand into this paper shredder? _

 

_ I better be home tonight in time for Dog Cops.  I’m going to freak out if Fury makes me stay late again. _

 

Clint focused on his breathing, trying to drown out the panic and anxiety that was trying to claw its way into his brain.  He wasn’t sure how long he laid there before he heard a soft knock at the door. He didn’t move, calling out “Come in!” 

 

Most of the office had seen him in weirder places than laying on the floor of his boss’s office.

 

Natasha walked in and sat next to him on the floor, disposing his phone next to him.  She was still shielding her thoughts from him, which was understandable, but her silence was not helping Clint’s nerves.

 

“Just tell me,” he finally sighed.

 

Natasha sighed as well, “I went to her address and nobody was there.  It looked like she just packed up and ran, maybe she saw me coming, I don’t know.  I promise that I will find her and we will figure this out.”

 

Clint contemplated that for a moment, then nodded as well as he could lying down.  “Guess that means I need to figure out how to deal until then. I should probably do some work today.”  He forced himself up and out of Maria’s office, heading toward his cubicle.

 

***

 

Roughly an hour later, Clint was ready to pull his hair out.  Everyone just had so many thoughts. And they were so weird. Clint would finally be able to focus on the case in front of him and then someone would walk by wondering if penguins had knees, and he was pulling up Google to figure it out.

 

Nothing was getting accomplished.

 

But he now knew that penguins had knees.

 

Fucking fantastic.

 

Clint gave up.  He opened his work email and sent out a group message.  

 

_ Hey all, I’m not feeling well.  I’m going to take the rest of the day off.  If you need me for something urgent, call Natasha instead. _

 

He shut down the computer and quickly walked out the door, keeping his head down in an effort to keep anyone from trying to talk to him.  He managed to make it to his car without learning any more terrible secrets about his coworkers and cranked the music up to almost unbearable levels until the music was the only thing in his brain.

 

Lucky was ecstatic to see Clint home from work so early.  Clint greeted him tiredly before slowly stripping off his clothing and curling up under the blanket on his bed, Lucky pressed to his side.  Alone in his apartment, Clint could almost forget the terrible morning that had happened except for the stray thought that somehow managed to worm its way inside his head.  He finally managed to fall into an uneasy sleep, curled around Lucky.

 

*

 

“Tell me about last week. Did you go anywhere?”

 

Sam’s office was decorated in bland neutrals and populated with potted plants. His furniture was comfortable, upholstered in soft, tweedy fabric, and he didn’t mind Bucky picking at the loose threads in the weave as he contemplated his answer. 

 

“More or less. Went jogging with Stevie.”

 

“Good.” Sam scribbled that down in his notepad. “That’s what I like to hear.”

 

Bucky sighed, shrugging. “It’s Stevie. Does that even count? He’s the only one lately who can even drag me out the door. I just…” Bucky rubbed his nape, pulling on the back of his hair, which hung well past his collar, now, but he wasn’t ready to go full ponytail. 

 

“It counts, Bucky. You made an effort to engage, and more importantly, to function. Fresh air? Exercise? Face to face contact and conversation? All of that counts in my book.” But Sam’s smile faltered. “What made it difficult?”

 

“Jesus…” _Better question, doc? What didn’t?_ “Just… too many people. Stevie tried to take the long way. We cut through the park. It’s not just the crowds themselves… I’m still dealing with the whole ‘touching’ thing, but... “ Bucky paused.

 

Sam took off his reading glasses and cleaned them as he waited for Bucky to find his words. His expression was calm, meant to encourage. They’d dipped their toes in this pool before.

 

“I told you before. About the voices.”

 

“You did,”  Sam said, watching him across the desk.

 

“You didn’t act like it was weird.”

 

“Because maybe to you, it’s not. Psychic ability falls within the realm of human possibility, even if science disputes it.”

 

“But you don’t think I’m a wacko,”  Bucky pressed.

 

Sam huffed. “I don’t. And let’s strike that word from your vocabulary, my friend. Look. If the voices you tell me you hear in your head aren’t telling you harmful things - like, to go play in traffic, or to stab your boss, or to eat ten cupcakes, and if they aren’t affecting the way you communicate with other people, like making you feel paranoid that they might hurt  _ you _ then I think it’s safe to go back to the very real possibility that this might be a gift. You said it started happening after your injury?”

 

“After I got blown to shit? Yeah, doc.”

 

“Well. Heard anything good lately?”

 

“Your secretary is thinking about calling off sick tomorrow. She also doesn’t like your new cologne. Her babysitter has been flaking off and she needs to find someone else to watch Isabelle.”

 

“O. Kay.” Sam chuckled and nodded. “I meant things that you’d heard about you, but this is educational.”

 

“Eh. Well. Steve thinks I look better rested? That’s good, I guess? Right? But, it’s hard.”  Bucky paused and rubbed a hand across his face.  “People notice my arm. I hear ‘em thinking about it. Not just see ‘em looking at it. I hear what they think of me, even when they won’t look me in the face. Sometimes, it’s rough. I never realized how nice it is, not to know.”

 

“How’s work going?”

 

“I’m managing.” Bucky worked from home doing technical support; at least his GI bill kicked in for him to finish his BS in computer engineering and information systems, and he didn’t have to show up to work just to sit stuffed into a claustrophobic cubicle, assaulted by everyone’s thoughts and the stench of burnt coffee left too long in the pot. Bucky could tell callers to wait five minutes and reboot from the comfort of his recliner, laptop, and Spongebob pajamas. 

 

“Know what I miss, Sam?”  Bucky asked, fiddling again with his hair.

 

“Tell me.”

 

“Having someone to hang out with who has shared life experience. I mean, not the whole military thing, so much. I talk to guys at the VA. But just… someone who knows how this part feels. The voices. Never getting to enjoy the silence unless I’m locked up tight in my apartment. Sometimes wondering if what I’m feeling is actually me, or someone else. And… fuck… m’sorry.”

 

“It’s okay,”  Sam answered, steadily meeting his gaze.

 

“Sorry. Yeah. I just… I want someone who gets me. Who’s fine with this. Who I don’t have to explain all of this to, y’know? Somebody who won’t be scared away by all this.” Bucky laughed, and the sound was raw, maybe a little unhinged. “Somebody would have to be crazy to want to take me on, with all of the shit I’ve got going on.”

 

“Bucky, you never know. Give yourself some credit. You might be just the right person’s cup of tea,”  Sam countered, as Bucky glanced at the clock behind Sam’s head.

 

“Voices and all?”

 

“Voices and all, my friend.”

 

***

 

Steve met him at the lobby and gave him a cautious smile  paired with a casual, “How did it go?”

 

“Another hour of my life that I managed not to fuck up,”  Bucky answered with a grin.

 

“Good. Want lunch?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I wanna try out this pizza place over by the pier. I hear they have fantastic garlic knots.” Steve pulled out his phone and dashed off a quick text.

 

“Who are you talking to?”

 

“Nat. She works at the field office.”

 

“Ah.”

 

They didn’t always talk about Steve’s work. So much of it was on a need-to-basis, and Bucky didn’t need to know unless Steve ever ended up in over his head.

 

“She mentioned a case she was working on last week… oh.”

 

“What’s up?”

 

“She might meet us for lunch if she can get clear of the office.”

 

***

 

It had taken a while until Bucky was comfortable eating out after the accident.  The thoughts of the employees and other diners had overwhelmed him until he could barely process his own thoughts, let alone actually interact.

 

He and Steve started slowly, going to all night diners at 3:00 am until Bucky could handle the thoughts of the few other patrons.  Eventually, he was able to drown out the sounds around him, letting the thoughts fade away like background noise. It was still draining, but at least it was manageable.

 

Bucky was glancing through the menu like he wasn’t going to order the same exact thing he always ordered when a beautiful redhead slid into the seat next to Steve.  “Bucky, this is Natasha. Natasha, this is Bucky.”

 

She smiled politely and held her hand out to Bucky who considered it for a moment, but didn’t shake.  Her thoughts didn’t show any annoyance at him, which was a nice change. Her thoughts were quiet, calming.  Steve and Natasha talked idly about people from work until the server returned and took their order.

 

“What’s going on with Clint?” Steve asked, “I saw his email.  I’m pretty sure the last time he took a sick day Fury had to almost physically throw him out of the office.”

 

Natasha glanced at Bucky before answering Steve.  “That’s part of why I’m here. I need help tracking someone down.  Off the books.”  _ Way off the books. _

 

Even if he couldn’t read his thoughts Bucky would be able to tell Steve was interested by the way he perked up slightly.  “Why? What’s going on?”

 

“Clint had a slight,” she paused, searching for the word, “altercation with someone this morning.  I need to find her and set it right.” Her thoughts were focused on the need to find some woman, whoever had hurt her friend.

 

“But off the books?  What did she do to him?”

 

“We’re not sure yet,” she hedged, but Bucky was distracted by Natasha’s thoughts.  _ She made it so he can read people's thoughts.  And he’s not handling it well. _

 

“She what?” Bucky burst in, unable to help himself.

 

Natasha’s head snapped toward Bucky, the look in her eyes enough to terrify someone if they weren’t overwhelmed by the knowledge that someone else could hear thoughts too.  And if someone had done it to Clint then that surely meant they could undo it, right? Could they fix Bucky?

 

Natasha was frowning.  _ Can you hear what I’m thinking?  _

 

“Yeah.  I normally try not to tell people, I’m sure you understand why.  But if someone managed to give this to someone else then they can take it away from me, right?”

 

Steve looked lost still.  “What did she do to Clint?”

 

Still in a daze Bucky answered Steve, “She made it so he can hear thoughts.  She made him like me.”

 

Natasha stood suddenly.  “You have to come with me.  You have to talk to Clint.” She grabbed him by the sleeve.  “Come on, we have to go see Clint.”

 

“What about lunch?”  Bucky exclaimed, startled into standing with her.

 

“I’ll get you something later.  We have to go see Clint now,”  Natasha replied, pulling Bucky out of the restaurant by his sleeve. 

 

He could see Steve out of the corner of his eye, talking to the waitress who had brought out their food while Natasha dragged him away.

 

Natasha hailed a cab and Steve joined them with boxes full of food just in time to climb in.  Natasha gave the driver an address and they were off. Time to finally meet someone who could do what he did.  He couldn’t wait.

 

***

 

It seemed like only moments had passed before Lucky was wriggling free from the covers, barking excitedly. Clint groaned, rubbing at his sore ears. Someday he’d stop falling asleep with his aids in.

Staggering toward the door, Clint’s sleep-addled brain hoped Natasha brought coffee. And maybe some sort of food, since he couldn’t remember the last time he ate something that wasn’t a protein bar. Or a stale donut from the break room.

“Down, boy,” he said, holding Lucky back as he swung the door open.

And froze at the sight of three people on his doorstep.

Natasha pushed past him carrying a bag of take out and forcing him to hold the door the rest of the way open for Steve and a stranger.  _ A very attractive stranger _ , his brain added helpfully.  _ Shit. I should’ve put on pants. _

The stranger snorted, eyes flicking down to his bare feet and worn purple boxers.

Steve reached for the door handle, closing the door behind them and radiating concern. Even before the whole mind-reading thing, Clint knew Steve was a total mother-hen. And here he was, standing in Clint’s apartment thinking,  _ Natasha’s right. He’s really not handling this well. _

 

“Nat!” Clint called. “Stop telling other people my business.”  _ Especially cute strangers who sit on the ground and play with Lucky.   _

She ignored him, slamming drawers in the kitchen and projecting her thoughts so that he knew exactly what she thought of his organizational skills. Clint rolled his eyes and turned to Steve, who was still worrying.

“Good to see you, Rogers. Shouldn’t you be working or something?”

Steve’s eyes flicked toward the stranger, who was still sitting on the ground beside Clint’s pile of boots and rubbing Lucky’s belly.

“Bucky,” the stranger said.

Clint blinked at him like an idiot.  _ Stupid naps and stupid brain and stupid curse. _

“So you can stop calling me ‘stranger’ in your head.”

“Wait,” Clint paused, letting his thoughts catch up.  _ You’re like me? _

 

The stranger – no, Bucky – snorted.  _ More like  _ you’re _ like  _ me _. _

A pointed thought from the kitchen interrupted Clint’s revelation.  _ Put on pants before you flirt with the poor guy, Clint. Also, there’s food. _

Clint could feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck. “Right.” He coughed awkwardly. “I’m gonna… Pants.”

He escaped toward his room, followed by Steve’s bewildered  _ what is happening? _ and Bucky’s smug  _ Don’t change on my account. _

Grabbing a clean-ish t-shirt from the floor, Clint was painfully aware that Bucky could read his every thought. That felt weirdly invasive, but then again, Clint could  _ also _ read everyone’s thoughts. Which really, really sucked.  

Pulling on a pair of threadbare sweats, Clint gave up on trying to impress Bu-  _ anyone _ . He was more of a fifteenth-impression kind of guy anyway. And anything was a better impression than half-naked and just woke up.

_ I don’t know. I’d say those abs made a pretty good impression. _

Clint wished briefly for the ground to swallow him.  _ Sorry _ . Here he was, accidentally hitting on another poor schmuck, cursed to hear the thoughts of everyone around him.

_ It doesn’t bother me. _ Bucky thought back.  _ Hurry up before Steve eats your food, though. Guy eats enough to feed an entire unit. _

More at ease, Clint tripped down the stairs to join the group. He shot Bucky a warm smile and grabbed the plate Natasha had made up for him.

Bucky smiled back, Lucky’s head resting on his knee.  _ Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out. _

 

Clint felt weirdly reassured by this weird stranger who was apparently like him in being able to hear people’s thoughts. 

 

Besides, Lucky seemed to like him fine enough, so his judgement mustn’t have been too bad for once. 

 

_ That’s fair. _ He heard Bucky think and flushed a bit at the reminder Bucky could hear his internal assessment of him. Not that he’d mind much about the other assessment Clint had given him…

 

Clint shook the thought away (hopefully) before Bucky could hear it. 

 

“I figured Bucky could help you until Steve and I find the bitch who did this.” Natasha explained. 

 

Clint nodded a little, mouth shoved full of food. 

 

_ Natasha! I didn’t agree to this.  _

 

_ Wait, what?  _

 

Clint heard from Steve and Bucky simultaneously. 

 

“Sorry Nat, don’t think they’re on board with that plan.” Clint shrugged after swallowing his food. 

 

_ No no, I’ll help. It’s awful to get used to.  _ He heard Bucky think, sounding like he… rushed his thought? 

 

_ I can see that. But I can manage here with Lucky. You don’t have to help me. _

 

_ But I want to. You’re like me. I’ve never found someone like me. _

 

Clint looked at Bucky and found him looking sincere. 

 

_ And I never thought that when I did they’d be so cute. _

 

“Do you deal with this all the time?” Natasha asked Steve, watching Clint and Bucky obviously talking in their heads. 

 

Steve sighed, shaking his head, “He’s never had someone to talk back to.”  

 

Bucky, who was getting food now, much to Lucky’s dismay, stuck the finger up. “Shove it Stevie, stop talking about me.” 

 

_ Kind of trying to flirt here. _

 

Clint smirked when he heard that. 

 

_ Oh, are you now?  _

 

Bucky’s attention snapped back to Clint and he grinned, and Clint nearly died. But what a way to go. To die looking at that smile. Amazing. 

 

Bucky was grinning more when Clint came out of his reverie. 

 

_ You don’t seem to mind too much. _

 

_ You’re right I don’t. Just think of how good sex would be if we could hear each other's thoughts?  _

 

Bucky almost choked on his lunch, coughing a few times. 

 

_ Jesus Christ. You can’t just drop that on a guy. _

 

Natasha rolled her eyes at Clint. 

 

“Get your mind out of the gutter. For Bucky’s sake. He’s the one that has to deal with your thoughts too now.” 

 

Clint pouted. “Excuse me, Bucky loves my thoughts.” 

 

_ Certainly loves something about you…  _

 

Natasha tugged Steve. “You done? Let’s go find this woman. We’re leaving them here to do… whatever mind readers do together.” 

 

Steve shrugged, finishing his lunch quickly. “Sorry.” He said to Bucky, pulling his jacket on. “Duty calls. Bye guys.” He said, moving towards the door with Natasha. 

 

_ I think Bucky really likes him… Why didn’t I introduce them before?  _ Was heard from Steve, projected unintentionally whilst Natasha’s parting commentary _ They’ll either be really good for each other, or a total dumpster fire  _ being utilised as a barbed compliment _. _

Clint and Bucky looked at each other, before starting to laugh. 

 

“You’d think Steve would know to at least try to control his thoughts by now,” Bucky said, talking out loud out of habit, even though he knew Clint could hear his thoughts as well. 

 

“By now? How long have you been able to… you know?” 

 

“Hear thoughts? Since I got back from…”  _ Having my arm blown off.  _ Bucky wiggled his left hand, which made Clint take note of the fact his hand was… shiny?

 

_ Is that a metal hand? That’s fucking cool. _

 

Bucky looked taken aback by his thoughts. 

 

“Oh God, I’m sorry. That’s just… StarkTech right? It’s really cool,” Clint said, trying to fix his latest case of foot-in-mouth. 

 

_ He really thinks it’s cool… _

 

Bucky coughed. “No, it’s fine. You’re fine. I’ve been able to hear thoughts for about eight months or so.” 

 

Clint’s smile dwindled. “Damn. I’ve just been dealing with it this week, and I’m already losing my damned mind. How have you held it together this long, Buck?”

 

Bucky shrugged. Clint tried and failed not to drool over those shoulders. “Who says I’m holding it together? My therapist and I have standing visits every Tuesday. ‘Normal’ and ‘normal for me’ are two different animals.” Bucky gave him a soft smile, though, making those big, soft blue-gray eyes of his twinkle, and Clint knew he was  _ so fucked _ . “But… not being the only one has its appeal. Y’know?”

 

“What do you do to take the edge off? Having all those thoughts just coming at you from every direction?”

 

“I wish I could give you some sage advice, pal. I fucking hide. I work from home. And my apartment is basically protected by these psychic wards-”

 

“Wait, the what-now?”  Clint interjected, visibly perking up at the idea of a reprieve.

 

“Wards. My apartment is like a soundproof room. It dampens the thoughts and psychic energy from other people when I’m inside it. I bet whoever’s spying on my Google feed thought I was nuts when I searched for a specialist in that. Imagine how much it freaked me out when I found someone who could actually do it.”

 

Clint set down his plate, losing interest in the garlic knots and half-finished slice of all-meat pizza. “So. Wait. Is she a psychic, or…”

 

“She said she’s a mystical and spiritual practitioner. Basically, she’s a witch.”

 

Clint shivered. “Dude. What does she look like?”

 

“Eh. Older. Tiny. She doesn’t wear her hair braided, it’s more like-”

 

“Dreadlocks?”  Clint interrupted, feeling a creeping sense of dread.

 

“I guess,”  Bucky answered, continuing,  “Gray hair. Dressed like she belongs at the Saturday farmer’s market. Wears all these rings.”

 

“Holy crap,”  Clint whispered, feeling slightly shell shocked and more out of his depth than earlier.

 

“Whatsamatter? You look funny. You feeling okay?”  Bucky asked, looking concerned.

 

“I need to sit down.”

 

“You’re already sitting down.”

 

Clint fought the urge to go fetal. Not a good look around the guy he was trying to impress. 

 

_ You have. I’m impressed. But why are you freaking out? _

 

“Because your little psychic gatekeeper is the one who put this whammy on me, that’s why,” Clint told him aloud.

 

“What?” Bucky asked, completely shocked. 

 

_ But she was so nice when I met her? What the hell?  _ __  
  


“Well she was not nice when I met her, that’s for sure.” 

 

_ She ran into my car.  _

 

_ She what?  _

 

_ She hit me! In her car! _

 

“This is insane. She really like… cursed you to hear people’s thoughts?” 

 

“Yes! She was all like ‘You should’ve seen me coming!’ and I was all, ‘I can’t read minds lady.’ and she was like ‘abracadabra now you can.’”

 

_ Jesus…  _

 

“I know!” Clint exclaimed.

 

“Wait! If that’s your chick, I still have her number. She told me to call if I needed any more help.” Bucky said as he realised. 

 

“We gotta call Tasha,” Clint said, yanking his phone out of his  sweats. 

 

He dialled Natasha’s number and called her. 

 

“What’s wrong Clint?” She answered. 

 

“We know how to find her.” He said in a rush. “Bucky has her number.” 

 

Natasha told him to hold on while she told Steve, so he waited. 

 

Bucky was obviously texting Steve since he also had his phone out when Clint looked back over at him. 

 

It kinda sucked that there was all this drama the first time they met. He would’ve liked to get to know Bucky properly, without reading his thoughts. 

 

_ Aw but doll, then we wouldn’t be nearly as close. _

 

Clint flushed, sticking the finger up at him as Natasha came back on the line. 

 

“We’re coming back, we won’t be long.” She said, before hanging up. 

 

“Well goodbye then.” He grumbled as he put his phone away. 

 

“They’re on their way back.” He told Bucky, who nodded. 

 

“I heard.” 

 

Clint didn’t know what to say. 

 

_ Should I text her or something?  _

 

Clint looked over at the thought from Bucky. 

 

“I think you should,”  _ But maybe wait for the people who actually do this to get back first.  _

 

Bucky nodded. 

 

_ Maybe she’ll be able to take away my powers too. I won’t have to know what everyone thinks about my arm anymore. _

 

Clint knew that Bucky knew that he’d heard, but it felt too private to reply too, so he didn’t, busying himself with cleaning up from the food Natasha had brought over. 

 

Bucky returned to playing with Lucky, getting back down on the floor to pet him. 

 

Clint thought it was really cute that Bucky liked his dog so much, and he wondered if he had one of his own. 

 

_ No, haven't really thought about getting one… Lucky's great though. _

 

Clint was again reminded that Bucky could hear his thoughts and he needed to stop thinking weird shit about him. 

 

_ Naw you don't. That's no fun.  _

 

_ I kind of do. Imagine if someone was saying this shit to you out loud. It'd be weird.  _

 

_ Well, you're not just someone, and you aren't saying it out loud.  _

 

Clint flushed and moved into the kitchen so he didn't have to reply. 

 

Was it replying if it was in his head? What were the logistics of telepathic conversations? Who knows? Maybe Bucky. Certainly not him. 

 

_ I don't know. Cool to think about though. I've never met someone who could actually hear thoughts that wasn't a fraud.  _

 

_ Are there many frauds? _

 

_ Oh god so many. It's weird to think how many people think they want to be able to read minds… I don't think they would if they actually could. It’s not as great as movies make it look. It's mostly loud.  _

 

_ Right? I remember wanting to read minds as a kid… It's pretty awful, actually. I haven't been able to get work done properly because I keep getting distracted by loud thoughts.  _

 

_ That's the worst. I got pretty pissed with Steve in the beginning. When he worries his thoughts get really loud.  _

 

_ That somehow doesn't surprise me. Natasha doesn't have loud thoughts.  _

 

As if summoned by the thought of them, Natasha and Steve arrived back at Clint's apartment, Bucky letting them in. 

 

***

 

One hour later they were ready for the witch to arrive.  Clint had been sent to hide in his bedroom until she was fully in the apartment.  He tried listening in on the thoughts from the living room but they were pretty mundane.  Apparently waiting could suck the excitement out of anything.

 

Finally, he heard a knock on the door.  Bucky answered, just like they had planned.

 

“Thank you so much for coming so quickly,” he greeted the witch, “We really need your help with something.”

 

“Of course, anything to help out,” she replied, sounding much nicer than the last time Clint had heard her voice.  He heard the door shut behind her and tensed, waiting for the signal to come out. “What’s the problem?”

 

“Well, it’s not for me, exactly, it’s for my friend.”

 

Clint opened the door and walked into the living room.  The witch stiffened when she noticed him but stayed where she was.  Steve was standing between her and the door, just as they had planned.  Natasha was nearby, ready to intervene if needed.

 

Clint couldn’t hear the witch’s thoughts.  That was weird.

 

“Reading minds is terrible, please remove this curse from me.  I’ve learned my lesson and everything.” Clint tried to project sincere thoughts, just in case she could read minds too.

 

The witch glared.  “I’m not sure you have.  Give me one good reason I should help you out.”

 

Natasha came up behind her, “I can give you several good reasons.  You do not want to mess with me,”  she stated.

 

Her thoughts were violent, detailing all the ways she knew to hurt someone and leaving no doubt that she would do it to help Clint.  He felt warmed by it, which was probably a weird reaction, but whatever.

 

_ Yeah, I’m terrified of Natasha now _

 

Clint couldn’t help smiling at Bucky, “You get used to it.”

 

The witch sighed, “I guess I’ll take it off.  It’s not like you’re giving me much of a choice and it was probably an overreaction anyway.”

 

“And Bucky too,” Clint added.

 

“What?”

 

“Fix Bucky too.”

 

The witch sighed, but glanced at Bucky.  “Do you also want this removed? I will not put it back on if you change your mind.”

 

Bucky nodded decisively.

 

“Okay, who is going first?”

 

Clint answered before Bucky had a chance, “Fix Bucky first, he’s been waiting a lot longer than I have.”

 

Bucky smiled gratefully at Clint before turning fully to face the witch, squaring his shoulders.  “I’m ready.”

 

Steve stepped forward, radiating concern.  “Man, Bucky was right. You do think loudly.”

 

She squinted at Bucky for a moment before her face dropped.  Then she lifted her hands, pointing her fingers at Bucky as she mumbled something under her breath.  She dropped her hands and looked confused for a moment before she started pulling things out of her bag.  Soon she was waving incense around Bucky with one hand, holding a crystal with another, and once again mumbling.

 

She stopped suddenly.  “Whoever gave you this gift is much stronger than me.  I can’t remove it. Perhaps I can help find someone who can, but it will likely take a long time to track them down.  I am sorry I cannot help you today.”

 

Bucky nodded gamely.  “That’s alright, just fix Clint.  I’ve been like this for this long, I’ll be fine.”

 

His thoughts, however, were more upset.  

 

_ I should have known better than to get my hopes up.  And now she’ll fix Clint and I’ll go back to being all alone again.  It was all too good to be true. _

 

The witch had turned her attention back to Clint and was starting to raise a finger to point at him.

 

“Wait!”

 

Everyone froze, including Clint.  It took him a minute to realize he was the one who had stopped her.  He couldn’t believe he was doing this. “Wait,” he said again, more calmly.  “Leave me like this.”

 

_ WHAT? _  echoed loudly in his head.

 

“Jesus, Nat, not so loud.  I’m only deaf on the outside.”

 

“Clint,” he turned to Bucky, “what are you doing?”

 

“I don’t want to leave you by yourself again.”  Bucky looked completely lost. “If you’ve learned to deal with this than I can too.  I’ll wait until we find someone who can help you. And we’ll get this fixed at the same time.”

 

_ Are you sure? _

 

_ Positive. _

 

Bucky smiled suddenly, as he visibly relaxed the tension in his shoulders.

 

Bucky had the most beautiful smile Clint had ever seen.

Clint flushed red, what an embarrassing thing to think in front of someone who could read his mind.  Bucky was suddenly right in front of him.

“That’s the perfect thing to think,” he said, before leaving down to kiss him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to ClaraxBarton for setting this up. We had a really fun time collaborating on this!


End file.
